Trinity
by witchfirebaby
Summary: It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to walk out. But it was harder to come back after seven years. Jack Winchester left his two brothers and father seven years ago. Now he has some e'splainin' to do!
1. Chapter 1

**Trinity **

**Disclaimer:** Sam and Dean tell me they sold their souls to WB, who in turn sold them to CW. In other words, I own nada, except Jonathan "Jack" Winchester Jr.

This is un-beta'd because I could NOT find a good beta reader. Anyone up for the task?

This starts off with the murder of Mary and pre-pilot and then goes on to season finale. So if you haven't seen the pilot or Devil's Trap, you may not want to read this.

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I guess with me, it started the day mom died. I was two, clutching big brother Dean's hand, not really sure what all was going on. He was holding onto Sam, telling him it would be alright. But even at 2, I think I knew the awful truth. It wasn't going to be alright. Something bad had happened. 

Then dad came out in a burst of flames, grabbing us, rushing us away just as the flames burst from Sammy's window.

I can't really recall much else. I know the firemen came, I remember them looking at me sadly. I remember dad sitting on the impala, looking like he had died. I remember him kissing Sam's head. I remember asking where mom was. I remember dad's eyes, the blackness within.

I still have dreams where I can almost see mom's face. Or I think I can. She never looks quite like the photos I've seen. It just the little details, you know? I can't remember whether her eyes were green or blue, for instance.

When I was five, I tried to stop remembering.

Dean and I never really got on as we once had after that. I was always the quiet one in the family, the listener rather than the talker. For the three years after mom's death, at most I had probably spoken three words.

Maybe that's why Dean felt he had to protect me as well as Sam.

But when I was five, I started talking more. Not a lot more, but enough to be heard. And Dean began to worry more about Sam.

I guess it was because I felt that I had to look after my family as well. I listened to Sam when he wanted to talk, which became more and more often. I was always at my brother's side, speed and agility to his strength.

My father was another matter.

John and I stopped calling one another dad and son when I was fifteen. That year was the breaking point. I didn't want to be John or Junior or Johnny anymore. I started to call myself Jack, started to shut the door whenever dad was there, only coming out when he was too injured to fix himself up.

I became pretty good at that. Especially when I was 17.

When one of the high schools offered a paramedic training course with college credit, I took it. I had good enough grades, though I wasn't half as smart as Sam but I wasn't a C or D student like Dean had been. I was a B student at best, C+ at worst.

Of course this was done in secret. Though it was probably far more useful than John ever knew, saving us multiple trips to the ER.

I started taking anatomy and physiology for my high school sciences. I took another college credit in sports medicine and got into their health programs. My professors even found me ways to get the books or the medical supplies I needed. Sure, almost all of it was used, but it was special. It was mine, the first time I had something that was completely mine.

When we had to leave again, my teachers gave me some of their old stuff, including my first stethoscope. I never let my family see it, though, stuffing it under my bed or in my duffle. The deal was I didn't mess with Dean's or Sam's stuff and they didn't mess with mine, since privacy was extremely rare.

In my new high school, I continued learning. When I found out that my biology teach had been a medic in Desert Storm, I begged him to teach me some of the medical procedures. When he asked why, I told him I wanted to be a doctor.

And I did, I just knew I never could be. John expected us to graduate from high school, and then start hunting. And while I never could be what I wanted, there was still too much of a need to fight what darkness was out there, I couldn't just stop, either.

I started to smoke then, too. It was what kept me sane. Especially after Dean had started hunting, coming back with a dislocated shoulder or gashes.

It was really Sam who started the fight. He had started this normalcy kick when he was thirteen, something I had understood. What we did wasn't normal; we fought things that hid in the dark, things that we all thought were imagination, things that shouldn't be real.

But in the end I knew that if we didn't, then who else would. Maybe we couldn't send 'em all back to hell, but it made enough of a difference when we saved some kid from having to go through what we did. Even though I probably could have saved as many as a doctor. Maybe I felt guilty in a way.

So, instead I listened to Sam when he needed it. When he and John had a fight, and he ran into my room, if I was lucky to get my own, still yelling about how unfair it all was, I listened where Dean, still torn over the two, couldn't.

I knew that everyone had to vent, to let it all out sometimes, and I became the one to do that with. Even Dean knew that, and while he would say anything, he would often come outside with me as I smoked, and just sit in silence when things between John and Sam got out of hand.

I was the reliable one, the quiet one, the medic, the back up. Not the leader, or even second in command, although I was told to look after Sam sometimes when John needed Dean.

And I dealt with it. It was the natural order of things, I was the middle son and natural peacekeeper.

Maybe that was why it was such a shock to Sam when he found my medical textbooks.

I was just coming out of the shower, when I saw him on my bed looking over all my medical supplies.

"SAM! What the hell are doing with my stuff?"

"Are you leaving?" He asked suddenly, looking over the medical school applications my biology teach had given me.

"What?"

Hazel eyes met my own gray ones, and I knew I was in trouble. I sighed and sat down on my bed, next to him, but facing the wall.

"I wanted an escape. No, I'm not leaving, okay? I just…I'm not Dean. I'm not strong enough or have the street smarts. I'm not you, I'm not the one who knows everything about everything we fight and then some. I just, I'm Jack." I didn't know how to explain it well.

I had never shared my feelings with Sam, let alone everyone else. I grabbed a cigarette, not caring that the hotel room was non-smoking. I needed a light.

He waited for me to continue and I knew I wasn't going to get out of this so easily. "I told my biology teacher that I wanted to be a doctor, maybe a neurosurgeon so he would teach me. He's the one who gave me the applications."

Sam nodded, but I knew that this was far from over.

It happened about a week afterward, Sam had fought with John again, about staying to finish out his school year here, about how unfair it was and how he hated this life. The usual two stubborn people bickering about shit.

Dean went outside with me, to escape. I was just out there for a moment, smoking, when I heard the door slam open. For a second I thought Sam was running outside to talk, so I turned to speak, when I saw John.

He had a look in his eyes I could never forget, not even now. He had always looked worn out and angry at the same time. Like he was tired of everything, but at the same time still had some unfinished business and only when it was done, would he rest.

But now it was full blown, black rage.

"Dean, go inside, now!" He ground out. Shit, he would usually yell if he was angry. But to get him pissed off to the point where he would talk like this…

I was in deep shit!

I let the cigarette drop out of my hand, and looked over at the window to see Sam watching us. He didn't tell John, he couldn't of!

But another look at my father, and damn, I knew he had.

Dean got up quietly, without a word, and I nodded as if to say don't worry.

I sat there, not looking at him, waiting for the inevitable. It came like a blow to the head.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" He screamed. "Thinking of going off to college or some damn medical program, and leaving us when we need you? Deserting us!"

"I wasn't going! I just told my stupid biology teacher that so I could learn how to keep you alive! Dean comes in here every other week with some injury! Hell, last week a poltergeist sent Sam through a window! Who picked the glass out of his back? You? Who tried to be gentle and use what little painkillers I had left because we couldn't afford another trip to the ER? For my little brother for Christ's sake? Who made sure there was no infection? Who the hell, dad? Goddamnit, but someone had to!"

I never cussed at my dad. Hell, I rarely cussed at Dean or Sam either back then. And if I did, it was never beyond shit or hell. Never had I cussed like that. So it took a few minutes for John to react.

But react he did.

"And now you're the parent, huh? You know what's best for this family?"

"I didn't say I did, did I? I was just making a damn point! Sir!" I stood up, and John looked like he wanted to hit me. Surprisingly, none of the hotel's other residents bothered to call it into the police.

That was how it all started.

This is how it ended:

"You will throw out those applications now or I will throw you out!" He screamed at me. How we got into each other's faces so fast or who initiated it first, I'll never know.

"You won't have to! I'm done! I'm done picking up after the messes you make! I'm done fixing Dean and Sam, watching them get smashed and hit and burned and shot. I'm done waiting for you to come home! I'm done with this supernatural shit once and for all, damnit!"

"You leave, you better not be coming back!"

"Won't even look behind my shoulder, sir!" I stormed to my room, grabbing my duffle bags. I rarely unpacked anymore, there really wasn't a point to. I picked up a picture of Sam and Dean, the only one I had, and then scooped up the applications.

As I walked out the door, I glanced at my brothers. Dean looked shocked, Sam looked scared, staring at his feet as if he didn't know what to do. And for once I couldn't be there for them ormake it ok. I turned, pretending to ignore them, trying not to look back and say I'd stay. I couldn't. I just freaking couldn't anymore. Iwalked out never looking back, just I had promised, crossing the parking lot in record time.

John was waiting for me.

Before John could say anything, I threw the applications at him, wanting him to know that I hadn't filled out even one. I never looked back at him as I started for the corner, hotel dissapearing slowly behind me. I still wouldn't look back, not even when I was a block away.

It shouldn't have been as easy as it was to walk out.

But it was harder to come back after seven years.

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What do you think? The second chapter is going to be in third person and we'll find out where Jack has been after leaving and while Sam and Dean were working things out. 

Now click the button that says review PUH-LEASE!


	2. Chapter 2

"SHIT!" I was still not cussing as much as the other men in my family, but there are just days when no other word fits the description of events like damn or Hell! Take tonight for example, seven years after the fact I had walked out. I had gone to a vocational school, gotten certified in respiratory therapy and as an X-ray technician, which was what I working as now.

But was I satisfied? No, I still felt the need to go out and vanquish evil. Like tonight, I was fleeing for my life on my Harley-Davidson from a phantom, headless motorcyclist.

I just wanted…I don't know. Not normality, but balance.

I felt like I was never doing enough. On the one hand, here I was, in a high paying job where I could do some good. Help people at their very worst. On the other, I was also in a position where I knew where real danger lie and someone had to do something. To vanquish the evil that everyone secretly knew was out there but never wanted to admit was real.

It was confusing to say the least.

I did what I could on both fronts, tried to work with my patients and on my days and nights off fight the wicked. But all it did was leave me feeing exhausted and out of place.

And I couldn't be as stressed out as I was and not do something wrong eventually.

It was just a toss up, either I would get myself killed or do somebody else some kind of permanent damage.

Pain slowly sowed through my shoulder, and I realized Headless Joe had stabbed me with a knife. I pulled it out easily enough, turning to see he was still right behind me. Blood ran black in the moonlight and I clamped together my teeth.

It wasn't that the wound hurt. The knife was sharp enough that it went in without much pain and while it would leave a scar, it hadn't caught anything major like a vein.

No, it was just a reminder of how exhausted I was getting.

All I had to do was get this guy to cross the bridge where he died, simple, right? Well the dead motorcyclist in question may have lost his head, but not his mind.

I wanted to slap myself. Now I was making bad jokes like Dean, and I really didn't need to remember that before I died, did I? Because then I'd end up like No Neck here, haunting this stretch of road, until Dean and Sam came along to send me to the great beyond, and damnit, I needed to focus here!

It was just I felt that maybe I had betrayed them in a way. But then I was the one falsely accused.

I didn't want to think about this anymore, so I struck the gas pedal, hitting 95 mph, the pavement pounding under my bike. I was holding onto the handlebars so tightly that my fingers actually started prickling from circulation being cut off.

I had to think of something! Now!

You would think that by now I was used to decapitated dead people. Yeah, well when you have a guy on your ass tailing you on a 1940 Harley, waiting for the opportune time to take your head off, then you can think whatever the hell you want about me!

I shook my head; glad it was still on my neck, still listening for the telltale purr of the 1940 Harley-Davidson motorcycle behind me as we raced through the trees heading towards a small bridge.

"Come on, baby! You aren't even-" I stopped.

I breathed through my helmet, faintly aware of the fact that I sounded like Darth Vader with asthma as I sped through the empty stretch of highway. It was then I realized that the only noise that ripped through the night was my own harsh breathing and the hum of my Harley.

Where was the S.O.B.?

I lessened his speed, lifted up my visor, and began to stop when I heard it. That damn purr of rubber on asphalt. Aw, here we go, round two!

I caught a glimpse of a single headlight through the trees on the road next to me and held my breath. Just as suddenly as I saw it, it was gone. I slammed on the brakes, panting, listening in the inky silence that now seemed to swallow up everything.

Nothing, not even the crickets chirped.

No other choice but to wait, the silence a deafening roar I never wanted to hear again. I swallowed, shifting my foot on the ground, stilling the silence briefly with a crunch of gravel. I sniffed and lifted up my visor, well aware that this thing could pop out any second.

God, I freaking hated these slasher film moments! Never knowing where the thing was in dark, feeling the fear spike, and waiting for the flash of a headlight! I was never watching or reading Sleepy Hollow again after this!

Still nothing! And I couldn't stand the thought of having to wait another year to get this sucker. The ghost of the decapitated motorcyclist came back every anniversary of his death, and for the past three anniversaries he'd gotten violent, taking the heads of anyone who came down this stretch of road.

My headlight suddenly flickered. Ah…I turned around expecting the sucker to be here. Maybe No Neck wasn't finished yet!

But there was nothing there. I wanted to scream! There was no way I could let this thing go on, to terrorize people again next year.

The crunch of gravel sent me out of me musings and I looked back up to see the ghost ahead of me this time, bike suddenly coming to life with a dangerous purr, humming perilously as it closed in. The thing was going to ram me! I slammed on the pedals, turning myself around, my bike letting out a screech in protest as it swerved away.

The phantom headlight nearly blinding me as JI turned once to see it closing in on me. I closed my eyes for a second. I snapped them back open when I felt blood seep out of my shoulder again; the endorphins running rampant in my body were keeping me from feeling the pain like I should.

The bright light behind me was getting too close for me to have liked, and I knew I was running out of time! I turned around again to see the bridge behind me and clenched my jaw again. I had a plane formulated, one of Dean's patented crazy, death-wish plans. I knew what I was going to do was suicidal, mad and I probably wasn't going to make it, but I couldn't let this thing come back!

I inhaled, and then swerved, scraping my leg against the rough asphalt, and knew if I mead it I'd have one hell of a road rash in the morning. Somehow, I managed to stay atop the motorcycle. Holding onto it tightly, I sucked in one more breath, listening to the crunch of gravel as the thing swerved to catch up.

It was now or never and I tapped the brakes, just enough to go neck to neck…if the ghost had a neck. Damnit, I have stop channeling Dean!

The thing tuned to him and I couldn't ignore the stump where the head should be. I shot my hand out, reaching out to grab the ghost motorcycle's handle bar. I caught it and hit the gas on my baby, now literally dragging the ghost to the bridge with me

The ghost seemed to realize what I was doing and dug his nails into my arm, and all I could do was hold on, blood now running down my arm. I was just a few feet away from the bridge.

The ghost became frantic now, trying to punch, kick, and scratch me, slamming a fist into my arm. I yelled, wishing I had some sort of back up now more than ever.

The thing let out a scream as it hit the bridge, the phantom biker bursting into a thousand small embers as though the fires of hell had just been released from it's body. The scream pierced through the dead air and I had to let go, braking hard. My bike screeched as wheels locked up but all I could manage was slumping into my handlebars. Relief set in and the wind whipped around us as the shriek died out slowly.

I gulped in air, trying to calm myself, watching blood run down my arm, the pain finally settling in.

Note to self: No more decapitations!

Funny, I would have blamed John if he were here. The truth was after two years working in some diner after I had left home, I missed them more than I thought possible. Not that I would admit it, but I wrote letters everyday, but never sent them. All of them were in my bag, sealed and never opened. It was easy, back then before I left home. It was a life of move, kill the creature, and move again. It was harder now without any backup and just staying in one place.

Jonathan "Jack" Winchester Jr. just had himself and it was generally enough.

Tonight, though, it almost wasn't. I wanted the backup, the family moments. But I also didn't want the walls between me and John and Dean and Sam.

You could never have it both ways, though, not with the Winchesters. So I chose something else, to walk, to leave the life I knew for one that I deluded myself was enough.

I sat up, not needing this anymore. I had work at the hospital tonight.

I hightailed it out of Elmore before the cops showed up.

Funny how different the hospital was from the scene at the bridge. And not the way you'd think, either. It was just in the hospital, I was hero with a face, I was known. I had a name, a job, and an apartment. I had people who said hello to me and I said hello to them.

But out there, on the hunt, I was a nobody, a hero that the people I had saved wouldn't forget, but they didn't know me. We would never meet again probably.

It was an odd duality, with a giant similarity: No matter which I was, X-ray tech or Demon Hunter, they never knew me. It was a mask either way. Jack Winchester was someone only a few privileged people actually knew.

And only one person came to mind at the moment, Gannie. I should call the older woman, after all, she had taken me in after I had left dad and my brothers. I should let her know I was ok, but something stopped me. I still wasn't sure if I was 'ok'. Something held fast in the air as I looked around the busy hospital. It was like something was going to happen and it was going to be very bad!

I grabbed a cup of coffee in an attempt to take my mind off the mood. I tried to think about Gannie, instead. I had met the southern belle from New Orleans a few days after my cash had run out and I needed more if I was going to get to…wherever! I wasn't even sure where I was going anymore. I felt lost and alone, really alone. No Dean to pick on me, no Sam to be picked on, no John.

It was just me for once…and it bothered me more than anything ever had!

I ended up in a town I didn't know the name of. For the first few nights I stayed in a warehouse that had been abandoned decades ago trying to decide where to go from here. The answer was pretty obvious, get anywhere away from this city! No way was I going to sleep with the mice again and a piece of newspaper as a pillow!

So the next day I tried to find work, but no one wanted to hire me. I didn't have any references or anything. And I was obviously homeless, with my packs over my shoulder and dirty face. Not like I could really help it though. If I left my weapons and packs around, someone would steal them! And Hotel du Junk didn't provide showers!

I finally found myself in a diner across town. It was obviously a trucker's diner, meaning the food was superb despite the fact that on the outside the place looked like it should have fallen down twenty years ago. I was half tempted to waste the last of my two bucks to buy a piece of pie, but I knew I might need the cash later.

I was at the lowest of the low at the time.

It was then I noticed the cash register. It was an older version, the type that could easily be cracked open. I didn't like the thought of stealing, but I was desperate! My family had discarded me, with no place to go and no one to trust.

I decided to take a chance and empty the till. I went up and had just cracked it open when I heard the distinct click behind me. I turned, eye-to-eye with a woman who probably didn't weight 90 pounds soaking wet and holding the shotgun she was aiming at me right now.

I nearly wet myself!

All she did was tsk me and murmur softly "Honey, why in the world would a nice boy like you try and rob a southern belle like myself?"

She lowered the shotgun and gave me a piece of apple pie after that. And we talked. Actually, I talked for once and she listened. I told her everything, my mother's death, my brothers, my father's quest, hunting, traveling, the interest in medicine, the fight, and why I left. The whole time Gannie, as she told me to call her, listened without interruptions. It was a very freeing experience for me, who had always been the quiet one. I had never let my feeling go like that and it was like I was finally able to let it all go. And to a total stranger, no less. But I had a feeling Gannie would understand.

When I finished my story with a sob, I found her patting my shoulder, handing me a Kleenex. She didn't pity me or think I was crazy, and for the first time in years I felt that I wasn't all alone with everything anymore.

I worked there for years afterwards. I slept in the diner at nights. Gannie became a grandma of sorts, babying me, giving me advice, smacking me with that wooden spoon when I became too much to bear. But she never made me feel like a burden or a freak. She even helped me finish high school and go get certified in vocational school. I owe her everything.

When I told her I had to start hunting again, Gannie just nodded and helped me build up contacts.

I always called her after every hunt. It was the least I could do, to tell her that Jack had made it out again. But today I couldn't pick up that phone.

I just had a feeling, one of those sick ones. Where you know something bad is going to happen. It was like the time a possessed cop took out his piece to shoot Dean. Dean must have been 18 and I was 16. I'll never forget watching the cop's eyes as he aimed at Dean or that click that could only be the safety being released. And I just ran, pumping my legs as hard as I could, fighting the tears that threatened to seep out. But I knew, deep down, throat drying up, nauseatedly, that no matter how hard, or fast, or how I ran, I would never reach Dean in time.

Luckily, John showed up in time to hit the cop over the head.

I still get sick when I think about it. It was the exact same feeling that permeated my stomach walls right now. I wanted to throw up my coffee. But I just took of my sweatshirt and put it in the coatroom and entered the main floor. I then saw the rush of doctors as they tore by me.

The floor called out a code blue. Meaning, if you've never watched ER, that someone was dying. I watched the ambulance entrance with a crash cart, people, all on the trauma team, scurry all over the floor in position. Never a good sign. Usually meant there had been accident.

I should have gone to radiology. But I couldn't leave the scene for some reason. Something stopped me, the feeling inside my stomach bursting forth into my legs and chest, holding me there.

It was then all hell broke loose. And if it had been another bullet, I wouldn't have run fast enough!

Instantly doctors, radiologists, nurses and EMTs ran around, lifting the gurney out of the ambulance. A neck brace around a bluish faced male, with brown hair messed and bloody.

"We got flail chest, boy's not breathing!" "IV needs to be wide open!" Someone was trying to put pressure on a bloody wound, blood pouring out the leg and seeping into his jeans, while a RN quickly hooked up an IV of saline.

"He needs to be bagged! Patient cannot breath on his own!" "GCS is 5…"

And I couldn't hear anymore. Because all I could see was my baby brother, wrapped in a foam neck brace, stiff on the board, on a gurney into surgery! And I couldn't breathe! And oh god, but breathing became really difficult then and shit, it hurt to fill my lungs! Sammy, Sam was on that gurney!

They were cutting off the clothes, running down the halls with Sam looking like he should be dead, hell! He had the eyes of a dead man almost! And god, oh, god, I retched. I couldn't stop, the force of it all crashing down, casing me to sink to the floor. God, oh, god, oh god. I couldn't stop. Not when the nurses tried to help me. Not when my stomach was emptied. All I could do was sob heavily on the floor.

Oh god!

OMG! I have reviews! Five! I think I just died! Thank you all so much! I have never got that many for a single chapter in my life!

Thank you ChaiGrl, Estei, Spuffyshipper, Labellefemmeecrivain, and EmSyd!

Sodapop…eh, I guess I see it…sorta…ok, not really, but glad you like Jack!


	3. Chapter 3

There were days I could actually pretend I was Jack Winchester. Truth was Jack Winchester was a figment of my imagination as much as everyone else's. I would say hello to Sally in the ER or ask about Krista's kids. I knew people, but they never knew me. I could almost pretend I was in paradise some days.

Problem with all Edens, however, is eventually you get kicked out and have to face real life.

Like right now. Hours after Krista picked me off the floor and took me to the bathroom. When she asked what was going on. And when I looked up at her, face stark and pale, and told her that was Sammy on that gurney.

She held me after that, like I was one of her kids and she was chasing away some nightmare.

We went to the desk and Amy, the receptionist, told me to contact Dr. Warner about the other two in the car, and oh god, I think the world just tilted right then. But it could be that I almost fainted right there and Krista, used to having patients fall down, grabbed me by the waist before I fell on my ass.

John was the less wounded. His knee was in bad shape where it hit the dashboard and broke his patella, he had a bullet wound, and a few bruised ribs. His leg was going to give his some trouble. They told me he would probably need physical therapy.

Both Sam and Dean were still in surgery, but John was out and in the ward, rather than ICU. Hopefully Sam and Dean would join us there.

I laid back in the chair, looking over my father's face as he laid there on pain meds. I couldn't help but think about how different me and my siblings looked from on another. Dean always had mom's facial features from what I could remember of her and dad's eyes. Sammy always looked more like half and half: dad's eyes, but mom's bone structure, but dad's nose.

Me, now I was the opposite of Dean: dad's facial structure and mom's gray eyes. I always had that five o'clock shadow like dad and his darker hair. But I was the shortest in the family. I was five feet and ten inches, making me the runt of the Winchester men.

I couldn't help but remembering that at 12, it was Sam who always looked so small. I never thought he'd be taller than any of us, let alone me.

Now it was even weirder to see the tallest Winchester looking so fragile, like he was the five year old who still needed Dean and I when the nightmares got bad. He was so pale, so shattered looking. Not that Dean was any better. I had seen him rushed off to surgery, the doctors already sucking out the blood in his chest cavity. Dean was always so strong. I was faster, sure, but he could usually land my ass with a couple of punches. Not that I would ever admit it, but seeing him like that was more a shock than anything else.

I wondered if they were ever going to get out of surgery or if their doctors were ever going to tell me anything. I didn't even know what time it was or how long they'd been in the ER.

And I hated not being able to do something. I held my breath and sat up, taking my chair over to dad, wanting to be nearby. I sat back down again, taking in everything. The few machines needed in the room were humming gently, the starkness caused by the florescent lights. Once it would have been normal for me, familiar. Not the hospital was unwelcoming and scary.

I started talking, why I don't know, but with all this nervous energy I had to do something. I wouldn't leave dad for a smoke and I couldn't smoke in a hospital, so I guess I did the next best thing. Talk.

"Hey John, it's me, Jack. Look, I know you're probably asleep right now, but I just, I've never been good with words to your face. But I just need someone here right now. Sam and Dean, they're in trouble, d-John. I'm scared. I'm scared they won't make it. And I can't even tell them I'm right here and how much I missed them, not that I'm sure I could tell them that, ever. Not when they're awake anyway."

I scooted closer, as quietly as I could as if one wrong move would shatter everything in the room. "Do you remember when I was five? When I finally started speaking? I'll bet you remember the nightmares. You and Dean always thought they were about mom. And some of them were, you know? But most were about you and Dean and Sam. I was so afraid back then. That you and Dean and Sam would die the same way mom did and leave me, alone. I didn't want to be alone back then. It used to scare me that if I didn't stay up and watch Dean and Sam, they'd go away in a ball of flame. I would sneak in you're room sometimes, too. Just to make sure you were still there."

I looked over him, my voice barely a whisper, tears threatening. "When I was a bit older and I found out what you did, it scared me even more. I would wait up when I was supposed to be asleep and Dean was in bed and worry. It was worse when Dean and Sam started to hunt. I was worried you die and you wouldn't be able to let go. That you'd become the things you hunted. I think that's why I started to go into my room more, dad. I figured I was going to be all alone anyway so I had better get used to it. Ever heard of self prophesy? It's where you believe something is going to happen that you actually cause it to happen. Oedipus is prime example. I guess that was part of why I left. You just gave me the prefect excuse, you know?"

"I don't know if you remember, sometimes people who have gone through some medical trauma don't actually remember how they got in the hospital. You were in a car accident. They think Dean and Sam were trying to get you to a hospital, when the truck hit you. I know what happened though. Something finally caught up with you. Something bad and you miscalculated in some way. I'd venture a guess it was about the thing that killed mom. You're always too careful with everything else, planning every little what if scenario. But if it was the thing that killed mom, I could see you letting down your guard."

I leaned back in my chair, thinking. I felt cold and sick as I looked over dad. I watched his breathing, rhythmically and unbroken. I suddenly couldn't help smiling a bit. There was no hitch in his breath, no slight snore. Whenever dad was asleep, there was always that hitch. I had watched him and my brothers enough to know their sleep patterns. The SOB was awake!

I decided not to break the contemplation now between us. It would only embarrass me, besides.

"I need a cup of coffee, ok? I'll be back though. I'm not going to leave tonight. John, just get better, ok?"

I got up, replacing the chair and slipped out of the room. Just before I closed the door, I could have sworn I heard John whisper something. But I couldn't be sure of what and there were already enough problems to deal with.

Instead of getting coffee, however, I called Gannie. She answered on the first ring, meaning she had been waiting up for me. I felt a paroxysm of guilt as she answered.

"Jackie, hun, that had best be you?"

I sighed, trying to stop my voice from shaking. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier."

Gannie still must have heard the slight snag in my voice. "Sugar?"

"Gannie, it's my brothers. They're here…in the hospital. So is John, but he's in the ward."

"Oh, baby, you want me to come over? Never mind, I got my purse. Honey, you just stay there! You got that? I'll be right there. You get a cup of coffee or a doughnut or something. I'll be right there!" I heard some noise in the background and the jingle of keys. "No cigarettes, though! Last thing you need!"

The phone died on me then and I hung up and slumped down, still feeling sick. I didn't know if I could even hold down a cup of coffee. My stomach threatened to heave again, but I grabbed a cup of water.

I held it in my numbed hands for a few more minutes, before finally throwing it out. I couldn't even choke that down without my stomach churning dangerously. I didn't even register Jenny, when she tapped me on the shoulder.

"Jack?"

I turned and nodded.

"Um, your brother, the one with hemothorax? He's out of surgery and in the recovery room. Listen if you need…"

"Thank Jen" I nodded again and went back to John's room, slumping back into the chair next to my father.

* * *

_"Jack?"_ That voice, I struggled to reach it again. It was musically feminine and filled with so much peace, all I wanted to do was fall into it.

_"Jack stop!"_ But I couldn't, not until I reached her. I almost had her hand again, milky skin against mine. I could feel it brush against my fingertips again, but so warm this time. I couldn't stop reaching for her.

_"You can't stay here, Jack. You can't stay here with me."_ It was a calm whisper, and I could feel the warmth of her fingers. I tried to reach for her hand again, but all I caught was air.

I want to, god I want to stay!

_"Jack, it's time to wake up now, baby._ _Jack?_ Jack?" The voice was changing, into something even more familiar and steady. But I couldn't stop reaching for her. I tried with everything I had, when something poked me.

"Jack!" Dad, John's voice. What was he doing here?

My eyes snapped open involuntarily. I was in the hospital and shook my head slightly, realizing my mistake. I had fallen asleep in the chair next to… I sat up swiftly, my back protesting with a sharp pang. I groaned. Damnit, how long was I out?

I looked over at dad, his green ones meeting my gray ones.

"Hey." I sighed, waiting for the questions. After a few moments, I realized John wasn't going to break the silence and I wasn't in a mood. I scooted closer to him.

"Car accident." I said as way of explaining where he was. "You're in Jefferson County Hospital."

"Dean?"

I knewhe would access his own injuries later and begin with my brothers. I sighed and shook my head as if to say yeah, Dean's here.

"Dean has hemothorax, meaning blood was filling up the space around his lungs. I watched them wheel him into surgery, blood coming out of his mouth, which suggested that he other problems, perhaps bleeding in the lungs themselves. But the doctors could find anything else wrong, but the hemothorax, which was odd. He didn't seem to have gotten it from the crash, due to the lack of hitting anything and there were no broken ribs. Just a large bruise on his abdomen."

I paused, letting his mind process it all. Dad nodded, taking this in, and I continued.

"They found a way to excuse it, saying Dean must have slammed into the seat with enough force to cause trauma to the blood vessels. I didn't bother to correct the doctors, though." I knew what had happened. This was a botched hunt. There was no mistaking it. What had actually happened, I could only speculate.

Dad seemed to understand this and I resumed once more.

"Dean is in recovery right now. I have to wait until he gets out of the recovery room to see him. And before you ask, there was no point in me fighting it, unless I wanted to be sent home and you would have to wait for a doctor for this information." He gave me a look, but said nothing. I knew I needed to give him time to let all of that sink in. I waited for him.

"Sam?"

I nodded, trying not to sob or start crying. Sammy was the worst of all with flail chest. Finally I was able to hang onto myself.

"Sam is the worst. I don't know if he's out of surgery yet. He has flail chest from hitting the steering wheel. Flail chest is where enough ribs are broken (usually from a crush injury) to compromise the rigidity of the chest wall. Meaning the patient is in a hell of a lot of pain and his breathing is paradoxical." It sounded so cold to consider my brother's patients, but it was the truth.

"It means Sam can't get enough oxygen. Not that you'd want to breathe with that much pain anyways. He'll be intubed for a while."

Before he could go on, I nodded. "You're the least injured. Broken kneecap, bullet wound that was this close to hitting the femoral artery, so you're damn lucky you didn't bleed out, and you have bruised ribs. Impala is wrecked from what I heard."

He nodded and sighed.

"I'm glad you're alright." I didn't know what else to say.

He nodded again. "So, you a doctor?"

I shook my head. "No, x-ray tech. Though I do have a certificate in respiratory therapy."

Dad nodded.

I wanted to hug him, make sure he was still here. "Joh-Dad, I'm really sorry, I-"

He shook his head. "It's ok, Jack."

I shook my head. "No, its not. What I said, back then…" I paused, not knowing what to say. Like I've said before, I've never been good feelings. and I wanted dad to understand.

His eyes were glistening, but I ignored it. "Jack, it's ok. Let's worry about Sam and Dean."

I nodded "Look, I'm going to find out what happened to Sam, kay?"

John nodded and I sighed in relief. Maybe we could actually survive this.

* * *

Oh I got reviews! I know, this chappie sucked. But at least you know what happened to Dean and Sammy and John. But what is going on with Jack?

Thank you again all these people who signed reviews.

Sweet as the Punch: Yeah, it does. Thank you!I really tried to make him a flawed character. I see both Dean and Sam as very flawed heros, and well, tried to make Jack as real as I could.

Thank you all! Please leave reviews!


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